Hermione's Library
by tangledribbons
Summary: Harry had never been quite fine with his two best friend's relationship until he saw Hermione's library.


A/N: I'm not sure whether to start this by saying that I'm not sure that this is any good or not, but I suppose I just have so there we go. I haven't written in a while, not since before I went to Africa for a month in June, so this may be somewhat unfocused and... well, everywhere. Or it may just repeat itself constantly, I'm not sure. So constructive criticism would definitely be appreciated.

So, uh, on that slightly discouraging note... enjoy? :D

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Harry had never been quite fine with his two best friend's relationship until he saw Hermione's library.

He never said anything, of course. That would be rude and unkind and besides, what business of it was his to press his doubts onto them? And he was much too busy as well. Oh yes, much, _much_ too busy running around at the ministry, at press conferences, to and from each and every wizarding village in the whole country. Honestly, you save England and suddenly you have some sort of responsibility for it. Not that he minded all that much. At least he got to be his own poster boy now, and besides, all that running around kept him from poking his nose into things that were nothing to do with him. A fact that he eventually became incredibly grateful for.

It wasn't that he really had anything against Ron, you see. He was a good friend; usually there when Harry needed him, and he was a good man. A good auror too, something that Harry himself had not managed to work up the courage to commit to. So he had a lot of respect for his first friend, truth be told. It's just that he had these niggling doubts as well. Ron had left Harry almost alone in fourth year. And then again when they were camping (camping was how Harry preferred to think of that time in his life- it conjured up thoughts of bonfires and marshmallows and running giggling through the trees at night, all of which were images much nicer than his actual memories which he preferred not to think of at all if he could help it.) Yes, yes, so they were very young the first time and it was mostly the locket the second time, but the thing about niggling doubts is that they aren't always completely rational.

He didn't want to see Hermione get hurt though, and he especially didn't want to be the reason she was hurt. So he didn't say a word for two years. Not during any of the dozens of drunken conversations with Ron about how in love the two of them were (Ron and Hermione, that is, not Ron and Harry. That's a whole different fanfic, guys.) Not when Hermione fondly recalled all of the things Ron had annoyed her with that week. Not when Ginny voiced her own doubts and not even when the two lovebirds announced that they were moving in together, though he desperately fought with himself over that one. It was now or never.

But he hadn't done it, of course. Because that would be rude, of course. And besides, it was none of his business now and it would never be any of his business in the future. Ever. He would be very glad that he had stuck to that line of thought.

"Oh, Harry, wait until you see it! I mean, when he offered to find the house and all I was a bit unsure because after all a house is a big thing to commit to and what if I didn't like it? But I was just so busy with work that I couldn't really refuse, especially when he'd already booked the time off from his work to come and find us somewhere and-"

"Hermione," Harry grinned, though inside he felt a flash of alarm. Ron had chosen it? Had he furnished it as well? Harry still remembered Ron's room at the Burrow- homely, but hardly tasteful. What if the whole house was orange? Everything in it, orange. The chairs, orange, the tables, orange, the beds, orange, the carpet, orange. The _cutlery? _

"Yes?" Hermione asked when Harry seemed not to be finishing his sentence anytime soon and was instead staring off into some middle distance with an expression of mild horror on his face.

"Oh, sorry," he blinked at her owlishly, "Got a bit… distracted there. I was going to say calm down, you're talking to fast to keep up with again."

Hermione blushed slightly. She opened her mouth to speak but then abruptly closed it again. She sent Harry a withering glare that didn't even attempt to reach her eyes and then she grinned again, almost dancing up the two steps that led to the front door of her new house. The door, at least, wasn't orange, and Harry felt his colour coming back as he followed her inside. He was swept through the usual rooms with lightning speed- kitchen, sitting room, he thought he glimpsed a dining room through a door off a corridor that Hermione was determinedly dragging him down. At the end of it, she flung open the big wooden door unceremoniously and ushered him inside.

It was enormous. That was Harry's first thought, closely followed by a sharp _oh _of comprehension. Hermione was babbling along again in the background, but he ignored her, stepping further into the room and staring upwards. It was enormous and it was beautiful and Harry got it now. He got that his niggling doubts had been just that- stupid, niggling doubts because of course Ron loved Hermione because he had done _this _for her.

The shelves were oak, towering up to a ceiling that seemed impossibly high for such an average-on-the-outside townhouse. The walls were a deep, mustard yellow that gave the room an impossibly cosy feel and yet also managed to light it up. And the books of course. The books were everywhere. Stacked row upon row, shelf upon shelf, all crammed in next to each other, jostling for space.

"-and I didn't even know he knew where the bookstore was, and then he comes out with this and-"

Harry tuned out again. He may have never been quite fine with their relationship before then, but after seeing this, he couldn't doubt it anymore. Ron _loved _Hermione. Not in a drunken, slurring kind of way and not in a childish, jealous kind of way. _He loved her. _

And that was enough for Harry.


End file.
